


Ride, Boldly Ride

by April_Valentine, Martha J Bonds (April_Valentine)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, First Time, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Beginnings, Sacrifice, Tenderness, Unspoken Love, belief in miracles, desperate acts, hope from hopelessness, not a death story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-02-14 07:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/Martha%20J%20Bonds
Summary: In the face of the mid-season finale, we're all shocked and scared and feeling hopeless. Where will the show go from here? Will we still care? Will we still watch? Is it all for nothing?The characters feel the same way. This is my take, my canon jumping off point and my direction I would take things if I were in the driver's seat.Spoilers for 8:08. Don't read if you haven't seen.This is just the first chapter. Not the end, but a beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rickyl Writers Group](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rickyl+Writers+Group).



> I've actually had this idea for along time, pushed to the back burner while I worked on All The Things. But it popped into my head last night while I was talking to MaroonCamaro and Sorran about the mid-season finale and all the feelings we were having about this heartless writing decision. 
> 
> So I have a lot planned for this. This first chapter is as bleak a the last three minutes of the episode. But it's only the beginning. 
> 
> Yes, I'm working out my emotions and I hope they help you with yours, but this is not what it seems. I will be posting as frequently as i can and don't want to leave anyone hanging least of all Rick and Daryl and Carl.

_"Over the Mountains_  
_Of the Moon,_  
_Down the Valley of the Shadow,_  
_Ride, boldly ride,"_  
_The shade replied—_  
_"If you seek for Eldorado!"_  
~Edgar Allan Poe

 

Someone is screaming… loud and long and with all the pain this world can hold. It goes on and on and at first, that’s my only awareness.

Movement… faces… hands reaching… they’re reaching for me. They’re speaking but I can’t hear… the screaming… 

It’s me. My voice… loud and long and full of pain and disbelief and denial. 

We gathered in the sewers under Alexandria. I looked around, seeing my family there. Daryl holding Judith. Tara and Michonne… and Carl…

For some reason, he looked so small and slight… pale and weakened… 

And then he pulled up his shirt… to show me…

God, NO!!!!

My brain can’t process, can’t take it in, can’t _believe_ and yet in that same instant, I do process it, I do take it in I do… believe it.

He’s bitten. Carl’s bitten. My son… my flesh and blood.

I can see the teeth marks, the curved shape of a deadly mouth, there on his pristine skin.

I’m thrown back years and he’s lying white with blood loss, so small and frail on the bed at Hershels… shot accidentally by Otis… clinging to life.

I fell apart and Shane was there to put me back together, make me hang on, not run off being foolish to find medical equipment when I needed to be there for him…

I gave him my blood then, and it saved his life.

I gave him my sheriff’s hat and it’s been on his head every single day since.

I blink, and we’re in Alexandria, trying to walk through the herd, dripping with walker guts, smelling to high heaven, everyone but our main group shaking and nervous…

And a kid screaming in fear… his mother clinging to his hand and mine… my machete cutting her arm, severing that tie… 

And a gun shot ringing out… Michonne’s katana finishing the shooter… 

Carl looking up at me, his voice weak when he says one word, a confused, scared question…

“Dad?” 

before he collapses to the ground, blood where his eye once was.

I remember grabbing him up in my arms, how light he felt, how desperate I was.

How I got him to the infirmary… watched them start to work on him… 

And how I had to do _something_

Anything…

How I had to act, to fight, to kill…

They had done this, hurt my son, my boy, my life…

Those lifeless beasts, the walking dead that terrorized us, took our homes and our hopes and our lives… just as they had taken his mother… and I had to go out there and kill them, kill them all…

I can’t look at him now… knowing every moment comes closer to the last… I can’t comfort him like I should… like his mother would have… 

“Rick, Rick…”

Michonne’s voice now. She’s his mother now, has been there for him when I couldn’t… she’s taking his hand in hers, and they are both looking at me… 

I’ve failed him. So many times. Told him how everybody dies, warned him he was never safe, but so many times, I was right there and still he got hurt…

But I never let him get bit… never until now…

My head is reeling, can’t take it in… must… do something, rage against the dead… against Negan, against the world….

The machete is warm and solid in my hand. I find Michonne with my eyes, recognize the tears in hers, though there are no words. I want to see Carl… but not like this… not wan and pale and sweating on the ground, a bandage soaked with blood on his side… not my son, my boy… 

I should say things to him… something good, something meaningful… but I can’t… 

I turn, find the exit to the tunnels… I have to fight… kill them, fight my fear and loathing and grief and shame…

“Rick, wait – “

Daryl’s voice, like a knife in my heart. Even his voice, his concern, can’t stop me now.

Have to get away, get out of here, fight back, rage against this fate, this world, this loss…

I’m outside now, easy to find a milling group, easy to chop and cut and stab and finish off the dead.

So many down in the engine room… must kill them, put them down, finish them…

So many in Alexandria while my boy lies shot in the face and I don’t know if he’ll live or die or be brain damaged or blind… 

Slash

Cut

Hack

Kill

And how he’s there… bit and dying… and there’s nothing I can do… nothing I can give… no sacrifice I can offer… 

Kill

Bleed

Stab

Cut

Gash

Jab

Puncture

No hope… no life… no world… 

Should have given up back at the beginning…

Found him and now to lose…

_”I just want to find my family…”_

I feel robbed. Bereft. My whole world… our future… what’s it all been for? 

I kept trying… to save the family, the group, the people who looked to me…

And what for? For this? To try for victory only to be handed this defeat more profound than any I could have conceived…

Take my friends… take my weapons, take my food, my self respect…

But don’t take _him!_

Stab

Cut

Slash

Kill

_Kill_

KILL

///// 

For a long moment, nobody spoke, nobody moved.

Daryl just held Judith tighter, his world rocked as much by the desperate, terrified, helpless look on Rick’s face as by the image of that bite on Carl’s ribs.

He wasn’t surprised when Rick took off. It was all he could do to stand there himself.

Nobody could stop him. Daryl knew that. Half understanding his need to flee, half hoping he’d come back in a minute or so, he just stood there, feeling the weight of everything fall on his shoulders. 

He remembered Carl from the quarry, young and sweet and so innocent, more innocent than Daryl himself had been at that age. He hadn’t envied the kid the good life he’d had before the walkers came. He saw how strong he wanted to be, how he looked up to both his father and Shane, how he wanted to help, to be a man.

Others had complained Carl didn’t stay in the house, but Daryl had understood. He hadn’t stayed in the house either, but for different reasons. No boy could or would… there was too much out in the world to draw him outside, no matter who told him to stay inside where it was safe. He was curious, he was smart and he was learning… he made mistakes but all the adults did too. He had to get outside and grow, just as Daryl had, but Carl was only running from his mother’s smothering, not his father’s hand and belt. 

And how he’d grown that first long winter on the road, taking point and defending the group while he and Rick made plans, while the others hunted or argued or worried.

Flashes of memory overlaid the image of Carl lying there against the sewer wall… opening a can of expired dog food as Daryl pulled feathers from an owl in a house they’d only just cleared, the sound of that can being thrown with contempt into the empty fireplace startling Daryl, making him flinch like he used to at any sudden noise, anticipating violence.

Standing side by side as they were frisked in Terminus… “should I ask about the other guy?” and Carl answering, “you should,” then seeing him standing slender and alone as he watched Daryl, Michonne and Rick head toward that railroad car.

And playing with Judith, big brother and care taker and in her eyes, the whole world…

Scavenging for food to feed the group…

Sneaking outside the walls to steal some time with Enid…

Coming on his own to the Sanctuary while Daryl himself was a prisoner there…

Daryl shook his head, wanting to deny the facts laid out before him. Carl was bit. Carl was going to die.

And this would finish Rick. Tear him apart and drive him insane.

They’d all seen how Rick reacted to grief, to loss… and they’d been powerless to stop it. Not even Daryl could bring Rick back once he made that descent into a world only he knew, where voices called him on long silent telephones, where visions haunted him and made him feel all his regrets… where forces he could not control sent him to war.

Daryl shook his head again, knowing he couldn’t let himself fall into the pit of despair that was reaching for him now, for all of them. 

He met Michonne’s eyes, seeing the tears in them, knowing how this would wound her too. 

“Don’t let him be out there alone, Daryl,” she said, her voice rough with grief. “Please.”

Daryl gave one brief nod, and handed the baby to Michonne. He picked up his crossbow, made sure his knife was at his belt and his gun was loaded. He met Carl’s eyes.

“I’ll get your Dad now,” he said, words clipped but assured. 

And then he was outside, searching on instinct alone to find Rick.

The trail of dismembered bodies was easy to follow.

The sound of hacking led him forward.

The sounds gave way to only panting breaths… broken sobs… 

And then he saw him, in the moonlight, bent and broken on his knees… 

It tore Daryl’s heart out, seeing Rick so hurt, so anguished.

He would do anything for this man, fight side by side with him, argue and fight with him, but always return, always remain faithful to the promise that Rick represented, this man who had trusted him, given him a place and a family and everything Daryl had never had in his life. He’d give his own soul to have prevented Rick suffering the grief that was to come and though he couldn’t do that, he knew he’d be by his side, helping in any way he could, though there was no real help for this.

Why did the world have to do this to them? Take all their family and friends and destroy all hope and all happiness? They were fighting a war but this battle hadn’t been planned, and could not be won.

Would Rick collapse, give up, let Negan win because losing Carl would destroy his will and and his strength? Or would he seek vengeance more unforgiving than any he’d ever sought before?

Daryl had seen Rick rip out another man’s throat for threatening Carl, seen him gut another man from crotch to throat that same night. Seen him torn with grief as he lifted an axe to cut off his son’s arm at Negan’s order… seen him fight back for that young man so he could have a home and food on the table… seen Rick hope against hope that they could survive and win and be free.

So many conflicting images and thoughts swirled in Daryl’s mind. He could barely see, barely think.

His heart was breaking for Rick and for himself… he loved Carl like his own too. And he knew he could do little to help Rick now, and could do even less for Carl. 

All Daryl wanted to do was go to Rick, protect him from this pain, from the pain of the world that had taken everything from him, wrap him up in strong arms that didn’t shake with grief or remorse or helplessness… 

And even that, Daryl thought, wouldn’t be enough. 

Rick was shaking, Daryl could see now, his body thrumming with agony and grief. His mouth was open in a silent scream… ripples of agony seemingly rising in waves from his figure and buffeting Daryl with the hopelessness, the utter devastation, the pointlessness of their existence.

He knew Rick’s heart like he knew his own mind… he would be berating himself, thinking he could somehow have prevented this, blaming himself and Negan and the walkers and the world. And he would kill until he couldn’t kill any more and still it wouldn’t be enough. And at the end, he would either be insane or dead himself. Or too calm and calculating, like the way he drove his car into that cop who’d been trying to run from him, the one Rick had shot when he wouldn’t shut up. And anyone who crossed him then would see the barrel of his gun or the blade of his machete.

And Daryl would love him all the same.

For Rick, the loss of Carl might be the one loss he couldn’t mentally survive.

For Daryl, that loss would be the loss of Rick. If Rick went crazy and didn’t ever come back, if he was shot and killed, Daryl knew that was the one blow he couldn’t bear, the one he couldn’t think about. Daryl wouldn’t care what happened next to him or to the world if Rick went. 

He said Rick’s name now, softly, aching with hurt and need and all the love he could never show or openly express. 

Rick didn’t stir, didn’t seem to hear him.

That was nothing new. 

Rick didn’t know how Daryl really felt. He’d dreamed of telling him, but those were only dreams. When every day was a battle just to survive, there was no time for love, for something Daryl himself didn’t understand. 

Daryl hadn’t been able to tell him how he felt for a long time. Much as he wanted to…much as he ached to shout at Rick and tell him… what? That Daryl Dixon loved him? This man that meant so much to so many Wouldn’t ever because there was so much more they had to deal with in this life they were trying to live. 

He tried again, for himself, but also for Carl, for Michonne for everyone who needed Rick now.

“Rick?”

His own voice wavered, Daryl knew. He didn’t care. That wasn’t what was important now. Rick didn’t notice or care if Daryl sounded like a weak, scared kid here in the dark with Carl dying back there, with their whole family shaking with fear and confusion. 

“Rick!” he tried again, louder this time. “Com’on back. Y’can’t stay out here…”

Rick bent in on himself, arm pressed to his gut as if in physical pain. 

He’d heard Daryl’s voice. He just couldn’t respond, Daryl knew.

He took a hesitant step closer, as if approaching a wounded animal.

Another sound caught Daryl’s attention then, something that had been there all along – shuffling steps, groaning moans… snarling inhumanity…

And it was getting closer to Rick.

Daryl started moving forward. Rick was so lost, so crestfallen, he was unaware of the single walker shambling toward him.

The ones he’d killed were strewn behind him, but this one was approaching and Rick, too exhausted, too lost in grief, didn’t seem to notice.

“Rick… look out – “ Daryl’s voice caught in his throat, fear spiking though him in a new way. Or an old way. How many times had Rick nearly been taken from him by a walker – and how many had Daryl dispatched just in time to save him? 

Daryl hadn’t been there when Carl was bit, but he for damned sure could stop this one from getting Rick…

“Rick!” he yelled, the shout that had brought this man back from the brink before, that had stopped him from shooting unarmed men, from losing his mind, from giving up…

And Rick turned. He heard Daryl. Met his eyes in the gloom. His face softened in recognition, in warmth and caring that even his unfathomable pain could not crush. 

Daryl’s heart started beating again in relief and hope –

The world slowed down and hovered, a moment out of time, unreal and yet more solid and clear than any Daryl had ever known before –

There was hope. He could reach Rick. He could bring him back – 

And then the walker lunged, claw-like fingers reaching, gaping mouth opening, unearthly growl hungering – 

Daryl swung his bow up, taking aim 

Rick lifted his own arm up 

In _welcome?_

in supplication? 

Offering himself? 

“RICK!!!” Daryl screamed his name out, a plea from the depths of his being, denial and horror and sheer terror.

He let his bolt fly, praying he would once again be fast enough, accurate enough.

The walker grabbed, pulling Rick’s arm to its mouth

And bit down, tearing flesh, even as the bolt struck its head and dropped it to the ground.

Rick screamed but only in pain, not fear and not surprise. Daryl wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did, with ever fiber of his being. 

Then he was running, covering the last few feet separating them, blood – Rick’s blood – turning the world red, sending Daryl into his own insanity.

“Rick!” he gasped, falling to his knees beside him. His hands were reaching but he didn’t know what to do… grab Rick’s axe, cut off his arm? Yell at him, call him crazy? Tell him he understood but ask him why, why, why, how could you, _howcouldyou_ whywhywhy _whyWHY_

And Rick met his eyes, calm, pain free, peaceful. 

_to be continued…_


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Rick's encounter with the walker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me awhile to get my head together to move on with this story. But here it is. Hang in there with me, please. This is going somewhere, honest.

“No…. nononono…” Daryl was gibbering, the words gushing out of him… just one word, moaned over and over in denial, in supplication. “No…”

And Rick looked up at him, his eyes still soft, so peaceful. Warm with affection. Daryl felt the whole world tilt like a camera angle going askew, like the ground had suddenly taken on a ninety degree slant. How could Rick look at him like that? He’d just been bit. The world was ending, so how could Rick look like everything was all right now?

Daryl didn’t understand, but he reached for Rick anyway, for his arm, all torn up and bleeding. Rick watched him, watched as Daryl tore at his own shirt to wind it around Rick’s arm as a makeshift bandage. No bandage, no medicine would stop what was going to happen, but he could still stop the bleeding. 

His hands wrapped around the fabric, trying to keep Rick’s lifeblood in but feeling the hot gush of it through his fingers. 

“Tried to get it…” he said, his voice barely functioning, full of grief and remorse. 

“You did get it,” Rick said then, his voice clear and calm.

“Not fast enough,” Daryl gasped out. The world was still tilting beneath him. He wanted -- _needed_ \-- to hold onto Rick, to keep the both of them from falling into the abyss. There was a hole down there, so deep and unending, and Daryl knew if he let them fall, they would be plummeting for eternity. It was bottomless, it was the empty world, the world without Rick and yet here was Rick, right next to him, his bleeding arm clutched in Daryl’s grasp. If Rick was going to fall down that chasm, he was damn well not going to let him go by himself.

“You’re always fast enough,” Rick whispered, his eyes locked with Daryl’s in that way he had that always gave Daryl courage, made him feel like his life meant something.

He blinked. Rick was wrong – the walker had still bit him despite Daryl taking it out. Or was he right? Did Rick offer his arm to its ravening teeth even as Daryl’s bolt found its home in the dead thing’s skull?

“Why, Rick?” 

Daryl’s entire existence boiled down to that one question. He both desperately needed and yet recoiled in fear from its answer.

Rick blinked and finally broke Daryl’s gaze. He looked sorrowful and ashamed.

“Can’t… go on,” he muttered, sounding more defeated than Daryl had ever heard him.

“Because…” Daryl’s throat threatened to close up, to choke on the word he needed to say. “Carl?”

Rick moaned, the sound torn from his gut, despair and mourning and grief mingled in a terrible inevitability.

Rick nodded, still looking away, hanging his head.“I’m sorry, Daryl,” he said finally. “I can’t do this any more. Don’t mean to give up… leave you… ‘n everybody… but…” He drew a strained breath. “It was there… seemed like the right thing to do…” Gasping, the words faded out. 

Daryl couldn’t respond for a long moment. Finally, he lifted his free hand and laid it gently on Rick’s sweat damp curls. “I know.” 

And it was clear to him. In the face of the unthinkable, Rick had allowed himself to be bitten too. 

It made sense.

Of course it did.

Everybody felt it, Daryl knew that too. He’d wanted it for himself more than once.

After Merle died.

After Hershel.

After Beth. 

After Glenn and Abraham.

But there had always been something to keep him from giving up.

Someone.

That someone was here in front of him right now.

Rick had fought so long, so hard. Not just for himself. For his family. For everyone who had walked all the way from Georgia to Alexandria with him, for everyone he’d lost along the way. He’d nearly broken before. He’d faced so many losses but one thing had kept him going.

Family meant everything to him. And to Rick, family was more than just blood. But blood meant… so much more.

Carl.

Rick’s own blood.

His own family. The last from before the walkers came.

There was Judith too, but she was from after.

And Michonne had told Daryl that Rick had told her he thought she likely wasn’t really his own flesh and blood. 

Daryl privately disagreed. That baby was Rick’s in all the ways that mattered and he knew Rick loved her. But Daryl didn’t doubt for a minute she was Rick’s own – Daryl had been the first to feed her, had watched her grow all these months… and there was nothing of Shane in that little ass kicker. Nothing of that rash so-called friend who’d betrayed Rick more than any man deserved to be betrayed. She was Rick’s daughter. 

But Carl was his son.

The one person Daryl knew Rick expected to take over when he couldn’t lead any more.

The one person Rick wanted to survive above all others. 

Daryl still remembered the sound of Rick’s voice as they headed into that train car in Terminus and Gareth hadn’t yet sent Carl following after them.

_“My son…”_

Desperate, angry, tense and determined. Rick had been all of those and more. The way he emphasized the word ‘son’ had torn at Daryl’s heart. For a minute, he’d feared the man on the roof would simply shoot the boy, or maybe take him as leverage against Rick and he’d worried then how Rick would react.

But Carl had been allowed to go with them. 

And now… now he’d be taken away.

Daryl wanted to tell Rick he could still survive. Maybe it wasn’t really a walker bite.

Maybe it wasn’t deep enough…

Maybe… maybe some people did survive being bitten…

Daryl wanted to tell Rick he had already survived so much that he could live through Carl dying too.

That their family needed Rick… 

That Daryl needed him…

But platitudes wouldn’t do any good right now.

And neither would anger.

Because a part of Daryl was angry.

So fuckin’ angry.

Angry that Carl had been bit.

But more angry that Rick had done this to himself.

And that Daryl hadn’t been able to stop him.

A tremor ran through Daryl’s body, his thoughts too full of anger, of regret, of loss for him to keep himself still.

Rick looked up at him then, his eyes full of questions.

“You all right?” he asked, his voice hoarse, shaky.

“Yeah -- _no!_ ” Daryl couldn’t help himself then, the words just tumbled out. “Rick, why? Why the fuck did you do this? You _can’t_ give up, you can’t give in. You can’t leave me…”

A flush of heat rushed through Daryl then, mortification over what he’d let slip.

Rick brought both his left hand up to clasp at the one Daryl still had wrapped around his right arm where the bite was.

“You’re the one I don’t want to leave,” he said, eyes as open and honest as Daryl had ever seen them. 

Daryl just stared at him.

“I could go on if anybody else went,” Rick continued, his voice firming as he spoke. “Everybody in Alexandria… Maggie… Carol… even Michonne… but you… if I still had you at my side, it would be okay.”

“I am at your side,” Daryl said, remembering then the fight they’d had, hours ago but which now felt like days, weeks even. “I… don’t know why I didn’t go along with what you wanted… you know I always do… just… bein’ at the Sanctuary fucked with my head…”

“Shhh…” Rick said anxiously. “Don’t worry about that now. That’s not what I meant. Never… never really thought we’d stay mad at each other.” He smiled up at Daryl, the expression so incongruous in light of what was happening that Daryl’s heart broke a little. 

He couldn’t speak. He shut his eyes, tight. This was too much, too hard, too emotional. Too irrevocable.

“Listen,” Rick went on, kneeling up so that they were facing each other. “I don’t… don’t want the others to know I did this.”

Daryl was shocked, and then he wasn’t. This was so like Rick, to want to hide the truth, to keep the others safe from the rashness of his decision, to shield them… and perhaps to avoid their looks of dismay and disappointment in him.

“What do you want to do?” Daryl asked, ready as ever to follow Rick’s path. “Just tell me and it’s done.”

“I want Carl…” as the word passed Rick’s lips, his eyes closed in pain and he seemed to fight off a shudder. He cleared his throat, and looked again at Daryl. “I want to be with Carl. I need to go someplace… someplace we can be… and then you go back and tell the others what happened to… to both Carl and me.”

“I can’t leave you.” The words rushed out of Daryl before he had half thought them. No way could he watch Rick walk away with his son, for them to die together but away from Daryl. He looked away, knowing that all his pain and trepidation was showing on his face.

Rick tilted his head to catch Daryl’s gaze.

“Not sendin’ you away.”

Daryl looked at him. What would be worse, to watch Rick and Carl walk away… or to be there with them when the end came? To be with them and to be the one… to put them down? 

“Can’t ask Michonne,” Rick was continuing. “Can’t ask anybody else.”

Daryl nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Daryl met his eyes.

“No need for you to do all the heavy lifting.” 

The warmth in Rick’s eyes told Daryl that Rick remembered the first time Daryl had said those words to him. 

Rick nodded, squeezed Daryl’s hand.

Daryl was about to say he would go back to the sewer and get Carl when a voice cut through the night.

“Daryl? Rick!” 

It was Rosita. She rushed up to them, panting from exertion.

“Damn,” she huffed. “I’m glad I finally found you guys.”

Daryl stood up and helped Rick get to his feet too.

“Everything all right?” she asked, as if their silence was enough to worry her. 

Her eyes raked over Rick then, seeing the make shift bandage Daryl had fashioned from his shirt.

“I’m okay,” Rick said, standing tall, his face calm and collected. “Fell onto some branches, cut myself up,” he lied smoothly.

Rosita studied his face and accepted what he’d said. “Oh… good thing Daryl found you. Anyway, I think… they need you back inside.”

“I know,” Rick nodded. “But… I want you to do me a favor. Go back and get Carl… if he can walk, I mean… and bring him to me. I’m gonna take him and Daryl and I’ll see to takin’ care of him… just the two of us.” Rick looked meaningfully at Rosita.

She swallowed and Daryl could see the thoughts rushing through her head like they were being written in the night sky.

“I don’t think Michonne’s going to like that idea.”

“Tell her to take care of Judith. That I need to be with Carl and right now I don’t want anybody else to be watching the baby.” Rick said it firmly, as if those words would be enough to convince Michonne to stay back, to give up being with Carl in his last hours. 

Rosita shifted on her feet, but she let Rick’s words sink in. “Okay. I’ll tell her. I’ll bring Carl out to meet you. But maybe… you follow me back and just wait outside?”

Rick thought for a second, then nodded. “Sure. That makes sense. And can you gather up some stuff for us. Water… some bedding…?”

“Where…?” she began, then obviously thought better of it. “Of course.” She turned, heading back in the direction of the sewers where their people had taken refuge after the most recent attack by Negan.

Rick waited until she was several yards ahead of them. 

“Okay?” Daryl checked. Such a small word. Filled with universes of meaning.

“’M fine.”

Rick looked down at the fabric wrapped around his arm, rubbed at the injury a minute and then met Daryl’s eyes. 

“It don’t hurt a bit.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl, Rick and Daryl are hold up in a small house outside of Alexandria. The waiting has been going on for several days. But then, something happens.

Never usually care what time it is – when it’s light, it’s daytime and when it’s dark it’s night. That’s been enough for me since even before the world changed. But right now, I’d give a lot to have a watch. Time feels like it’s standin’ still. Waitin’ – that’s not somethin’ I’m good at.

Rick’s got a watch. The one he’s always worn. Looks nice on his wrist, gold and shiny despite all the hell we’ve been through. But he’s sleepin’ right now and I don’t want to disturb him.

We’re hold up in that house we passed on the way into Alexandria the first time… where Rick hid a gun in an old broken blender. The gun that wasn’t there when he came back for it. Nobody’s been around this time though. They’re all still hiding, I guess. 

So we’re alone. The three of us. Rick. And Carl. And me.

Guess I’ll be leavin’ alone at some point. 

Don’t seem real.

Can’t think about it. 

But it’s all I can think… the darkness that will come that no dawn will ever push aside. Life in this world, without him. And without his boy.

We’re upstairs. There musta been kids in the house – this was their room. It’s got twin beds and right now, Rick’s in the one to the left, by the window, and Carl’s stretched out in the one on the right side of the room. I’m sittin’ on a chair between them. 

Dividin’ my attention between the two of them, like some kinda nurse, tryin’ to help ease their pain. Like some bartender listenin’ to their last words.

Got some bandages and I’m tryin’ to keep the wounds clean. Got some out of date Advil that I’ve given ‘em, tryin’ to keep the hurt to a low level. Keep the fever from getting’ too bad.

Carl’s the worst, since he got bit first… moanin’ and thrashin’ sometimes. I go over and try to hold him down… kid feels light, weaker than he should… he dreams… has nightmares, I guess… more than once I’ve been woken by a shout or scream… I replace the wet rag I’ve got for his head then, shush him, try to comfort him.

He knows about his dad… the kid cried. Asked Rick why.

The man had no words. They just looked at each other a long, long time and then they didn’t talk about it. I didn’t talk about it neither. Not like I ever did talk about shit like this.

But I should. There’s a lot I wish I could say now.

Now that there’s so little time.

Stuff I shoulda spilled long before this.

Stuff that maybe should be left unsaid, now that it doesn’t matter any more.

What good would it do for Rick to know how I feel about him? That I been in love with him so long I can’t even remember when those feelings started to grow. That I kept it to myself all this time – he’s our leader, got no time for me to get in his head and make him all confused… and then there’s Michonne anyway. 

When I found about that, I knew I’d been right in not telling Rick how I felt. 

He was straight. He loved her.

She’s a good woman. I like her too. Don’t begrudge Rick having someone like her.

But I’m not straight.

Never have been, even though I never had nobody in the old world or the new. Always knew what was different about me. That if I was to ever be close with somebody, it would be a man. I kept it hidden though. We lived in Georgia. And my old man and Merle – they weren’t likely to understand. So I never acted on it. Now I wish I had… but… no, no use wishin’ for things that can’t be had. 

But I love Rick. Love him more than Merle or anybody I ever cared about.

And it’s killin’ me to sit here and not be able to do a thing to stop him from dyin’ right before my eyes.

He shifts on the narrow bed, pushin’ down the covers I tucked around him not an hour ago. Must be feelin’ the fever.

_Damn._

He’ll need some water. I’ve kept a pitcher of it on the night stand. Neither of them got any kind of appetite, but they’re thirsty. 

I lean over and refill Rick’s glass, ready for when his eyes open.  
There… his eyelids flutter, red eyes opening to squint up at me. 

“Still…” He tries, coughs, and tries again.

“Still… here.”

I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question. 

Guess I’ll pretend it’s him asking me.

“Yeah. Nowhere else to go,” I say, holding out the glass toward him. 

Rick’s fingers cover mine on the glass as he leans up to take a sip. They feel warm, but not damp with fever. I try to tell myself that’s good.

I take a deep breath. 

“Nowhere else I wanta be.” 

The words came out without thought. They just spilled out, like water poured from that pitcher into Rick’s glass. Like they had to be said.

His fingers tighten on mine. His eyes look at little lighter.

“You’re a good man,” he says, looking at me with tenderness. “You’re my brother.”

“And you’re mine.” I can tell him that much. It’s true. But I wanted to be more. Wished I could be more. That I could have been everything.

Rick’s eyes lock with mine. Reading me. Looking into my soul.

I can’t look away. Can’t hide how I feel. Got to at least be that honest, now of all times. 

His lips curve up just a little, like he gets me. He nods, eyes crinkling a bit. The purity of his gaze has always held me… always kept me by his side. I flash on all the times I put my knife through the skull of a walker in time to keep him from bein’ bit… 

My gaze falters… vision swims.

Damn, can’t look weak now. Can’t let him know this is killin’ me. I blink and return my eyes to his.

“Hey,” he says, so soft and gentle. “I’m sorry, Daryl.” He rubs his thumb against my fingers. “Shoulda… thought it through…” And then he tears his glance away.

He pulls the glass to his lips without taking it from my hold. He drinks, draining it, then lets go for me to put it back on the table.

He rubs his hand over his face. Through his tangled curls.

“How long’s it been?”

He’s asked me this before. Once again, I wish I had a watch. But would I really want to know the exact time? The precise number of hours?

“Three days,” I tell him. To my own ears, my voice sounds flat, emotionless. But inside, I’m yelling. _Three days… of waiting for you to die… to watch you sweat and lose your head and fade before my eyes… hours and hours of hopelessness… three fuckin’ days! ___

__And how many more before it gets so much worse?_ _

__His fingers swipe across his brow, and he looks at them in some surprise, as if he expected to find them wet with perspiration._ _

__“No fever.”_ _

__I nod. He’d been hot last night… tossin’ and feverish but it seems to have gone away now._ _

__Strange._ _

__“Thought it would have been… over by now,” he muses, his voice sounding sorrowful._ _

__“We don’t really know how it works,” I point out. We’ve only seen a few get bit and then die. Amy at the quarry. Jim, so sick and then askin’ us to leave him by the road. Tyreese… And I’d heard about Deanna. She took at least a day to die._ _

__Just like a dead person can take minutes to days to turn, a bit person can take hours or days to die._ _

__If I was some scientist or doctor, I’d be takin’ notes._ _

__But I ain’t neither._ _

__I’m just a sad and lonely redneck watchin’ over my best friend and his son._ _

__“Three days?” Carl’s weak voice comes from the other bed._ _

__I turn and try to wipe the anguish from my face._ _

__“Yeah, kid. Just three days.”_ _

__I sit Rick’s glass down and pick up the other one, pour a drink for Carl._ _

__He drinks, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand._ _

__He grins unexpectedly._ _

__“Surprise, surprise.”_ _

__So saying, he shoves back his cover and sits up on the side of the bed._ _

__“I gotta pee,” he announces. Leaves the room without further comment._ _

__I turn back to Rick, who has watched him go. His eyes hold a mixture of love and grief._ _

__We sit in silence. There’s nothing to be said._ _

__Nothing, at least, that can make any difference._ _

__Carl returns, sticks his head in the doorway._ _

__“I’m gonna walk around a bit,” he says. A glance in Rick’s direction. “Okay?”_ _

__Rick nods. “If you go out, don’t go far,” he tells his son._ _

__“Just gotta stretch my legs,” Carl nods. He picks up the sheriff’s hat he’s worn every day since Rick gave it to him and dons it, then turns and is gone._ _

__Rick rubs at his eyes. “He’s walking around. I’m ready to sleep again. Still.”_ _

__“You’re tired,” I agree. It’s the stress.”_ _

__“I shouldn’t spend the time sleeping though,” he says, sounding annoyed with himself. “We got stuff we should be sayin’ to each other…” His voice trails off and his body shudders. “Last chance…”_ _

__He tries to sit up, but my hand shoots out, pressing him back._ _

__“Nah… let him walk around if he needs to. You rest. Talk when he gets back.”_ _

__Rick reaches up to pat the hand I have on his shoulder. “You go after him. Make sure…”_ _

__I don’t want to leave Rick’s side, but if he wants me to watch over Carl, that’s what I’ll do._ _

__“You gonna get some sleep?” The question is out of place – he’d already been sleeping. But what else is there to do?_ _

__When people get bit, they get tired, lose all their energy… then the fever comes… the hallucinations… then death._ _

__Any moment I’m not by his side now is a moment I can never get back._ _

__But he wants me to watch over Carl._ _

__I pull the covers back up to tuck them around his shoulders._ _

__“Yell if you need anything,” I tell him as I get up._ _

__Please, need something._ _

__Need me._ _

__I wander down the stairs._ _

__Carl’s in the kitchen, idly going through the cupboards._ _

__“You hungry?”_ _

__He shrugs. “Maybe. Nothin’ much to eat here though.”_ _

__“Still got some of the jerky from back home.” Rosita had packed it for us. We’d been livin’ on it for the last three days._ _

__“Tired of chewing that stuff,” he says lightly._ _

__He opens another door then gives a yelp of joy, grabbing what’s in side._ _

__“Look!”_ _

__It’s a can of pudding. Chocolate._ _

__I grin despite myself. I pull out the nearest drawer and find an opener, pass it over to him._ _

__Carl works to get his prize open while I dive back into the drawer and produce a spoon._ _

__When he gets the lid off, he offers me the can._ _

__“Want some?”_ _

__I shake my head. He can have it all._ _

__“I want to go out to the porch,” Carl says, taking up his spoon and digging in. At the first bite, his eyes close in pleasure. “Feel the air. It’s so close in here.”_ _

__“Okay, sure. But don’t go far.”_ _

__“M’gonna go back to your dad,” I say, though it’s unnecessary._ _

__Carl nods, heads for the front door._ _

__I don’t blame him. It’s a nice evening. And if you’re a kid, even if you’re dying, you don’t wanta be cooped up. He never did want to stay in the house._ _

__The thought pulls at my heart as I turn to head back upstairs to Rick._ _

__Even before I reach the room, I can tell he’s gone back to sleep. His breaths are deep and even. He dropped off fast._ _

__Part of me is glad. He’s not hurtin’ too bad to sleep. But I don’t want to waste these moments, no more than he wants to waste his last time with his son._ _

__I slip back into the room, settling on the hard chair where’d I’d sat so many hours already. Try not to let the chair squeak or drag against the wooden floor. Rick needs his rest._ _

__He shifts, moaning a bit, but he’s sleeping, and I watch, looking my fill._ _

__For the time when he will no longer be here for me to watch._ _

__I have no photo, no image to look at. I must engrave his features on my heart. Record his voice like an unplayed, unplayable disc. Hold his hand in mine and feel his warmth to dream about on all the cold, empty nights to come._ _

__Rick murmurs in his sleep, body twisting, his hand thrusts out from beneath the blankets._ _

__It’s there, open and reaching._ _

__As if in need._ _

__I’m the answer. In this moment, I can be what he’s seeking._ _

__Can’t I?_ _

__Can’t I have just that much? That little bit of comfort to remember when he’s gone?_ _

__Barely breathing, I extend my own hand toward Rick’s. Our fingers brush, entwine. Warmth rushes over me, tingling, sending tremors down my spine._ _

__I nearly let go, unable to understand what’s happening._ _

__It’s my imagination._ _

__My fantasies._ _

__That he would touch my hand and our feelings would bloom between us._ _

__That’s not real._ _

__Can never be real._ _

__He’s sleeping fitfully._ _

__Waiting for the fever that will take him from here._ _

__From me._ _

__But oh, if only it could be real._ _

__Rick’s hand in mine is firm and calloused. Alive._ _

__I glance at his face, but he’s still asleep._ _

__Holding his hand seems to have calmed him a bit. He’s not shifting as if uncomfortable now._ _

__He’s mumbling though, voice so soft and deep I can’t make out the words._ _

__“Shhh… S’okay, Rick.” Don’t wake. Let me hold your hand a little while longer._ _

__“Daryl…?”_ _

__“Right here, man.” Unsure, I say it softly._ _

__Rick’s head rolls back and forth on the pillow, brow furrowing in confusion._ _

__“Daryl…” he moans again, sounding lost and forlorn._ _

__I’m about to assure him once again, but then he says something more._ _

__“Too late…”_ _

__In this world, it’s always too late._ _

__“So sorry… never told you…”_ _

__His voice breaks off in a plaintive sob._ _

__Never told me what?_ _

__“Daryl…” that voice, sayin’ my name the way I’ve only heard it in my dreams._ _

__“… love… you…”_ _

__My heart is pounding…_ _

__He’s out of his head._ _

__Doesn’t know he’s even talkin’_ _

__Sleep talkin’… dream talkin’…_ _

__“Want you…”_ _

__Or maybe I’m the one dreaming… cause this can’t be real._ _

__“Oh God.”_ _

__Rick’s voice again. But not half whispered._ _

__I glance up._ _

__His eyes are open._ _

__He’s awake._ _

__He pulls his hand from mine, turns away._ _

__Tryin’ to hide._ _

__“Rick – “_ _

__“I was…dreaming…” His voice is a whisper, contrite, embarrassed._ _

__I shift on the chair, not knowing what to say._ _

__Almost wanting to pretend it didn’t happen._ _

__But I can’t spare his feelings now._ _

__Or my own._ _

__“I thought I was dreaming,” I tell him, my voice as cautious as if I was stalking a deer in the woods._ _

__I held myself back for far too long, I realize now._ _

__I’ve gotta make the first move._ _

__Take the opening he unintentionally gave me._ _

__I reach out my hand._ _

__Rick turns his head, sees my hand there._ _

__He meets my eyes._ _

__Lifts his hand from the blanket._ _

__And fits it into mine._ _

__They meld together like they were meant to be, like two halves of a whole._ _

__Like brothers… only closer._ _

__We just sit there, eyes locked on each other._ _

__“I was dreaming,” Rick whispers, like we’re sharing secrets. “Been thinking all this time how I should have said something long before this happened.”_ _

__“You…?” I can’t form the words. _You felt that way too?__ _

__“Never seemed the right time,” he says. “But, Daryl, I do… I care… I love you…” His eyes are adoring and full of the desperate honesty only Rick can summon._ _

__“But…” I can only stutter. There are no words for the emotions flooding me._ _

__Relief that Rick feels the same as I do._ _

__Regret that he never spoke._ _

__Regret that I never had the guts to._ _

__Regret that it’s too late now._ _

__Part of me wants to take him in my arms._ _

__And part wants to lash out, angry that we wasted so much time, angry at myself, at him, at the walkers, at the world._ _

__The anger simmers in my heart, then sputters and burns out. If we wasted time before, we can’t waste it now._ _

__“That’s why I wanted you to be here now,” Rick says._ _

__He squeezes my hand, holding on tight._ _

__He pulls me toward him._ _

__There are footsteps in the hall._ _

__Carl’s footsteps moving quickly._ _

__With a final squeeze, Rick lets go of my hand._ _

__Carl returns to the room, but doesn’t go back to his bed._ _

__Instead, he comes close to us. He seems breathless._ _

__“Daryl?” he says, voice anxious and confused._ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“You… put some medicine on the bite, didn’t you?”_ _

__I shrug. Figured it wouldn’t do no good, but I’d had to do something… “Yeah. Just a little Neosporin I found in the bathroom.”_ _

__“Look.”_ _

__Carl raises his shirt. Both Rick and I watch as he tugs the bandage down._ _

__It looks the same._ _

__I guess._ _

__But maybe not._ _

__Was it a little less angry red? A little less raw?_ _

__“It’s healing up,” Carl rushes on. “It itches.”_ _

__“Like it’s healing?” Rick asks._ _

__He sits up, reaching for the bandage on his own arm. Pulls it away from the walker bite._ _

__It too, is not as fresh looking as it had been._ _

__It looked like an ordinary wound that was healing._ _

__Healing._ _

__Healing…_ _

__The three of us look at each other and then at Rick’s and Carl’s wounds._ _

__Healing???_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... a revelation and a surprising turn of events... Cliffhanger. Won't make you wait too long for the next chapter, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We go back to Rick's POV in this chapter. And the plot moves forward.

The days drag on now… weird that time seems like it’s holdin’ still. Daryl said it’s been three of them. At first, I was so messed up I didn’t even care, ready to die if Carl was dying and yet not ready, not ever ready. 

A man isn’t supposed to bury his child.

But in this world, everything is up-ended. We bury everybody. And you can never be ready.

I told Carl once that play time was over, for him, for all the kids and for us too.

“Everybody’s gonna die. I’m gonna die. Mom…”

But I never believed it would be him before me.

Even in Terminus. Even with those men Daryl had been with, the guy I gutted for even talking about wanting to rape my boy – 

Even when Negan came and ripped our lives apart –

Even when Carl met my eyes and told me to go ahead, follow Negan’s order to cut off his arm –

There had been close calls, times I thought I would lose him.

When Otis shot him aimin’ for a deer.

When that kid Ron shot him after his brother and mom and it was my fault.

I thought that night I’d lose him. That nobody could survive bein’ shot in the face 

in the _head_ like he’d been

And out I went into the sea of walkers, slicing and stabbing and killing as many as I could take with me, takin’ out my anger

my _rage_

on them

just like I had back when Lori died.

But when the rest of Alexandria had come out to fight beside me and we’d fought them off together, I found my boy was gonna make it. 

And he got better. He learned to deal with losing his eye. He was growing up, and I was so proud of him.

I am so proud of him.

He’s had to become a man in a world nothing could have prepared him for.

But for him, it’s maybe been easier cause he was young enough to adapt.

It was hard for me.

My… humanity… has slipped. Sometimes I don’t even know why I tried to hang onto it.

And then, when I let it go and did what had to be done –

Well, you always find out that you made the wrong choice.

Went off half-cocked.

Killed the wrong people and brought down the wrath of someone with no humanity.

Made things so much worse.

I’m still paying for that.

I can’t believe Maggie can still look me in the eye. 

Or anyone else, for that matter.

But they still follow me. I don’t know why half the time.

Not sure this plan I’ve hatched to fight the Saviors will work, when you get right down to it.

But all that seems far away right now.

I’m here, in this house, waitin’

For Carl to die.

For m to die.

And look who I have made stay with us –

Daryl.

The best man I’ve ever known

Ever fought next to

Ever relied on

On runs

To back me up

Even when my plans aren’t as good as they should be

He’s been there.

My brother.

And now, talkin’ outta my head in a half-dream, half-crazy stupor

What have I done?

Maybe I’ve been honest with him for the first time in a long time.

Cause I do love him.

I do want him.

Not sure he actually believes me, cause my actions sure haven’t told the same story.

Yeah, we’re still the close friends and run buddies we’ve always been,

But I’ve been sleeping with Michonne.

And I do care about her. Love her for her friendship, her belief in me and being there for my kids. 

Don’t want to hurt her, even now.

But when you get bit, you find out what your real priorities are, I guess.

And I spoke the truth to him here.

I do love him.

So damn much.

The thought of leavin’ this world without touchin’ him, bein’ close… showin’ him how I feel is just 

Too much.

I can’t do it.

Almost kissed him a little bit ago, once the words were out there.

But Carl came back in the room.

Maybe that was for the best.

Daryl looked flummoxed, confused, kinda terrified actually, though he tried to play it off stoic like he always does.

Gotta do somethin’ about that soon as I can. Can’t keep him hangin’ and mixed up like I know he must be too long.

But we’re all confused about somethin’ else now too.

These bites are healing.

There’s no pain in my body or in my head.

I’m still tired, drained really, from the stress and the virus I guess is workin’ in me.

But damn if they ain’t healing up.

Like maybe… maybe there might be a way out of this.

“Dad?” Carl’s back in the bedroom now. I’m not sure where Daryl is. I think he said something about finding me some food. He left in a hurry a few minutes ago, lookin’ freaked out after Carl came in and interrupted our moment.

“You think…” Carl hesitated, swallowed, then began again, “do you think maybe anybody gets bit and then it heals up?”

“I don’t know. All I know is anybody who gets bit dies and then turns. That we all have the virus. It’s what Jenner told me back at the CDC.”

“Maybe he was wrong.”

I look at my son, the words ringing in my head. They don’t really compute for me.

“He tested our blood. All of us.”

“Yeah.”

“He would have said something if any of us wasn’t infected.”

“Would he?” Carl’s gaze was intent.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t tell us the computer was counting down to blow up the building. He left out that information, even though he tried saying he told us that bull about the ‘doors won’t open again.’” Carl pointed out. 

“He’d been in that place, all alone, for a long time. He lost his wife. Anybody might go a little crazy if that happened to them.”

“Yeah.” I agreed with that, but still couldn’t wrap my head around what Carl might be implying.

“Dad, you were shot. Before it started. You were in that coma. And then, the power went out in the hospital. And Shane couldn’t get you out – but he said how there was no power and like, no nurses or anything.”

“Yeah,” I answered for the second time, realizing how stupid I must sound.

“And you didn’t have water or anything,” Carl went on. “For how many days?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea.”

“And yet, you woke up, managed to get yourself out of there and get home. And found us at the quarry.”

Carl said it easily, as if it should have occurred to me long ago.

“It was a miracle. A miracle you woke up. That you found us.”

I nodded, deciding another ‘yeah’ would be kind of pointless.

“But what if it was more of a miracle than any of us realized?”

I just looked at him.

The sound of footsteps grabbed my attention. I looked up to find Daryl in the doorway, holding a plate of something. 

He was lookin’ at us, his face strangely worried.

I gave him a nod and waved him over.

He approached and I struggled to sit up in the bed. 

“Found some chili in a can. Heated it up for you.” He said, offering the plate almost diffidently.

He glanced at Carl. “There’s more in the pot on the stove. If you got room after your pudding.”

“I’m not hungry.” 

I took the plate from Daryl, letting my fingers graze his as he passed it to me. 

I was hungry, I realized. Food had held no appeal for the last three days, yet now I realized I wanted to eat.

But Carl was still talking.

“What if there was something in your blood – or maybe not in your blood,” he went on earnestly, stepping back so Daryl could resume his seat on the chair by my bed.

“What if Dr. Jenner made a mistake? What if he was wrong? What if he lied and you didn’t have it?”

I didn’t have an answer so I took a tentative bite of the chili. It wasn’t too bad. Bland like the can was old. But who cared about food poisoning now? 

“What’re you sayin’, kid?” Daryl asked, turning to stare at him.

Carl didn’t respond to Daryl’s question. He kept his eyes on me, still earnest and emphatic. 

“What if your blood doesn’t have it because you were in the hospital when it all started and it didn’t get into you?”

“That seems kinda far-fetched,” I said, knowing how grasping at straws could only lead to disappointment.

“Maybe not,” Daryl spoke up. “What if there’s others who were somewhere protected? Like down in a mine or maybe in a submarine or like… in a hospital room with nobody comin’ in to spread the germs?”

I just shook my head. 

I didn’t know.

Nobody did.

Nobody could.

“And Dad,” Carl went on, his eyes now lighting up, “I got your blood when I was shot.”

All I could do was stare at him.

“When Otis shot me. At the farm. You gave me your blood.” Carl said it like maybe I didn’t hear or understand him.

“So whatever kept you… uninfected… might be workin’ in me too.”

When he finished, he sat down on his own bed, looking at Daryl and me as if he had just explained why one team would win the World Series instead of another.

Like this wasn’t the most earth shattering idea anyone had ever suggested since all this began.

Like we should believe him.

And yet… 

I glanced down at the wound on my arm. Daryl had peeled off the bandage. It looked just like any cut three days after getting it. Not like a festering wound that was slowly killing me.

I looked at Carl.

He pulled up his shirt once more. The bite on his belly was almost healed, looking even better than my wound.

“And we don’t have fevers any more. We’re hungry,” he said, calmly and with assurance.

“And no hallucinations,” Daryl put in. “You’re both actin’ regular.”

“Unless you call thinkin’ we might somehow be… immune… ‘regular,’” I scoffed. “We could actually be hallucinating right now.”

“Both of us?” Carl challenged.

“And me too?” Daryl said pointedly. “Those wounds are healing.”

“We need a doctor,” I said finally, knowing there was none to call upon, no doctor with equipment of the kind that would answer our questions. 

“That new guy I helped, Saddiq, is a doctor,” Carl supplied. “He told me he went to medical school and worked in a hospital.”

The three of us just stared at each other for a long moment. 

“I don’t think any of us should leave here to go lookin’ for him,” I finally said. There was too much danger out there. Negan and his people. Walkers too. I didn’t want to tangle with another one of them right now.

Daryl reached into the pocket of his vest then, pulling out a walkie talkie. 

We’d been here for three days. Could the batteries still be any good in that thing at all? I asked the question with my eyes.

Daryl shrugged and thumbed the dial. “Rosita,” he said into the small device. “Rosita, do you read me? This is Daryl Come in.”

There was a long moment of silence, then some static over the connection. I was about to say that it had been worth a try, when we all heard Rosita’s voice over the speaker. 

“This is Rosita,” came the voice. It was a little fuzzy, but it was her. “Everything okay there, Daryl?”

“Yeah.” He met my eyes, as if he wasn’t truly sure about that. “Yeah, we’re okay. Is that guy Saddiq still there with y’all?”

“Yeah. He’s here.” If Rosita was concerned and curious, she didn’t ask any questions. 

“I think we need to see him,” Daryl said smoothly. “Can you put him on the walkie? I’ll tell him how to find us.”

After a brief conversation in which Daryl gave Saddiq directions to the house and asked him to bring any medical supplies he had with him, he signed off. Slipping the walkie back into his vest pocket, he met my eyes.

“Shouldn’t take more than an hour for him to get here.”

We all looked at each other. Carl and me and Daryl. 

A doctor – or what passed for a doctor in the world today – was coming.

In an hour or so, we might have some answers.

Not for certain, because nobody had a way to test blood or figure out what was going on with Carl and me for sure, but it would be better than guessing.

Carl nodded, his face shadowed by the wide sherrif’s hat, and announced he was going to go downstairs and see what stuff he could find in the house.

Daryl took his seat on the wooden chair beside my bed. He kept lookin’ at me, part scared, part hopeful.

I finished the chili he’d made me. It was the most delicious meal I’d had in ages. 

I couldn’t take my eyes from his.

I was partly scared too and partly hopeful. But Daryl was here with me. 

If there was hope, I wanted to share it with him.

If there wasn’t, I still wanted him at my side.

When I finished the chili, he took the empty plate from my hands and put it on the table, then turned back to me.

His eyes were soft now, with a different kind of hope in them.

But they were a little anxious too.

“I meant what I said,” I told him then, knowing it needed to be said out loud. 

He shrugged one broad shoulder, his hair falling in his face, hiding his expression. 

“I meant what I said,” I repeated, more assured this time. He had to believe me.

“Rick,” he finally said gruffly, “you don’t gotta…”

I leaned forward, reaching for him. The closest part of him was one of his calloused hands.

I took it, holding it between both of mine.

“I do,” I said, never more sure of anything in my life. “Doesn’t matter what this doctor guy says. I love you. And if we have enough time left, I want to show you.”

Daryl blushed then. 

I don’t think I’d ever seen him blush before.

Maybe back at the prison when we were teasin’ Glenn and Maggie about goin' up in the tower. 

Daryl had teased them too, but there was something innocent about him then, and I’d noted a hint of color high on his cheeks. 

Like a kid, talkin’ about sex without bein' real sure of himself.

Now he looked the same way.

It was amazingly endearing. 

I squeezed his hand.

“We’ll get off alone later,” I said, making it sound like a promise. “And we’ll talk.”

At the word ‘talk’ his head came up, eyes bluer than they’d ever looked to me before.

“Talk?” he asked, his voice faint with confusion.

“For awhile,” I told him, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb. “I want to be sure we’re on the same page.” I leaned forward, trying to catch his eyes.

He met them with that stalwart courage he possesses.

“And then we’ll stop talkin’ – see what we can get up to.”

The blush stainin’ his cheeks grew hotter but his eyes told me he wasn’t going to say no. 

And so did the way he squeezed my hand.

We sat like that, our hands clasped tightly, there in the stillness of the bedroom, waiting for the doctor to arrive.

To maybe tell us it wasn’t over.

Maybe he’d tell us it was just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long to update. I'm trying hard to fight the inertia the show is causing me and the sadness and the frustration of this season. I still love Rick and Daryl and Rickyl and I'm beginning to fight my way through.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is from the poem "Eldorado" by Edgar Allan Poe and first published in April, 1849. As the entry for it in Wikipedia states, "The poem describes the journey of a "gallant knight" in search of the legendary El Dorado. The knight spends much of his life on this quest. In his old age, he finally meets a "pilgrim shadow" who points the way through "the Valley of Shadow"."
> 
> It's quoted by Keifer Sutherland's character, Doc Scurlock, in Young Guns II, though he claims he wrote it himself. It's always been special to me so it seemed fitting to title this story with one of its lines.


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